To Hide the Truth: A Medieval Harry Potter Story
by blue-eyed-beauty2012
Summary: Truth- hard to find, all too easy to hide. Harry is hiding his hurt. Hermione Granger is hiding her relationship with her father's servant. Vernon Dursley is hiding his nephew from the world. Sirius Black is hiding from the world who wrongly condemns him.
1. Completely in the Dark

_**3 I do not own Harry Potter or anyone from the Harry Potter books/films. If I did, I would not be writing **__**FAN**__**fictions about Harry Potter or anyone from the Harry Potter books/films. That is all. 3**_

**Chapter 1**

_**Completely in the Dark…**_

Harry's stomach growled. His hunger, his constant companion, had awoken him from his sleep. It was just as well though. His uncle would whip him senseless if he, his wife, or his son woke before Harry.

Harry sighed deeply. He knew that he had to get up, but he didn't want to. He had been dreaming, and it had been such a nice dream… So different from his reality…

"Curses!"

Harry smirked. He opened the shutters of the hayloft window and looked down into the yard to find the source of the loud noise.

Ron, Harry's best friend, stood below Harry's window surrounded by piles of horse dung. Harry allowed himself a small laugh as he surveyed the scene. Ron heard his chuckle and looked up, mock-glaring at his best friend.

"Oh", Ron spluttered, trying to sound genuinely angry but failing miserably, "you think this is funny, do you?"

"Just a bit", Harry answered dryly. "How did you manage to knock that wheelbarrow of manure over, anyway?"

Even from twenty feet above him, Harry could see Ron's ears go pink. "Aw, I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to, honestly I didn't! It's just that your good-for-nothing cousin walked out of the house and scared me senseless- you know how I get when he's around, he's so big- and I wasn't watching where I was going so…" Ron continued, but Harry had already stopped listening.

_ Dudley was awake? Surely not! He never gets up before…_

It was only then that Harry noticed the brightness of the sky and sun. It must have been at least eight in the morning! Harry could only remember sleeping this late once in his life.

It had been when he was ten years old, a little over seven years ago. It was Dudley's birthday and Harry had had to stay up extra late to finish cleaning up after Dudley and his rowdy, messy friends. He had finally collapsed on his makeshift bed in the hayloft at two in the morning, only awakening when Uncle Vernon had thrown a bucket of icy water on him. Harry could still remember Uncle Vernon's fury as he stood over him, his hand shaking with rage as he gripped his leather belt. He could feel his childlike terror as Uncle Vernon had raised his belt- it was only ever used for beating Harry and holding up Uncle Vernon's trousers around his meaty girth; the belt hadn't ever carried a sword or knife like it had been designed to, but it had still seen its fair share of blood and violence- to strike…

Harry shook his head and ran his hand through his already untidy hair. He tried to push the horrible memory back where it belonged. It belonged with all the other horrors of Harry's childhood. It belonged in the dark corner of Harry's heart, a place no one ever saw or knew about, not even Ron. Harry's gift was hiding, both literally and figuratively, and he intended to keep it that way.

Growing up, he had always known, although it had never been said outright, that his family didn't consider him a human being. To them, he had no thoughts or feelings and they never wanted to hear anything from him to prove them otherwise. Harry had always just assumed that no one else would take an interest in him either, and even though Ron had befriended him and treated him like his brother, Harry had always been afraid to tell Ron anything too personal, so Ron was understandably confused by Harry's silence and ashen face following Ron's animated story.

"Harry", Ron began, his tone changing immediately from vivacious and comical to somber and anxious, "what is it? If you're worried about the mess, I'll help you clean it up before I go."

Harry just shook his head, not trusting his voice. He closed the shutters and sat down on the worn blanket and mound of hay that served as his bed. He didn't even have to listen to know that Ron would leave after a minute or two if Harry didn't reappear. And he was right. About three minutes after Harry's unexplained departure, Harry heard Ron's footsteps echoing back to him as the lanky boy continued his walk home.

After he was sure that Ron had gone, Harry stood up and dusted the stray pieces of hay off his breeches and out of his hair. Aunt Petunia would slap him soundly if he got any of his "barn filth", as she so lovingly put it, in her house. He then pulled on his boots, sighing in contentment as he was able to move his toes inside the shoes. They were new- well, new to Harry anyway- and they fit a thousand times better than his last pair. Madam Weasley, Ron's mother, had given them to Harry after she had seen how Harry had had to tie up the loose sole of one of his worn out boots with a piece of cord. They had last belonged to Charlie, the second-eldest and shortest of the Weasley clan. Even though the Weasleys shared clothes like they shared oxygen, all of the other Weasley boys had sprouted up so quickly and so much that they couldn't wear Charlie's boots more than a handful of times apiece, so the boots were still in pretty good condition.

Harry quickly reached down to the floor for his patched-up cotton shirt and his threadbare vest. He winced as the movement pulled at his back, still raw and sore from his last flogging two days before. Harry kept going, trying to ignore the pain. He knew that if he did not, his day would turn out to be far worse than it already was becoming. He gingerly pulled his faded white shirt over his injured torso, taking care not to tear open any of his wounds.

As he shook out his vest to check for spiders, Harry's eyes instinctively landed on the intricate stitchery on the inside of the vest. The embroidery, now at least eighteen years old, was faded and slightly loose, but still visible. Harry, having memorized the design years before, didn't need to study the stitching.

A thin, expertly sewn line of what had once been emerald thread swirled and curved to form a "J" and "P" interlocked. Behind the initials was a large, lovely lily. Harry smiled as he ran his thumb over the design, just as he did every morning as he dressed for the day. He would imagine his mother lovingly stitching the inside of his father's vest while she sat by the fire… Or he pictured her stretched out on some faraway seashore next to his father, embroidering with a soft smile on her face as Harry's father played with her long hair…

His fantasies about his long-deceased parents changed depending on Harry's mood or the weather or some other factor. Harry didn't really care that his imaginings never really seemed to blend together to form one perfect story. They just helped him to start his day with a little happiness in his heart. Although he knew it was childish, Harry liked to pretend that the little fantasies he made up in his head were really fond times that he was remembering, even though his brain told him that it was impossible for him to remember anything about his parents. They had died only four months after Harry's first birthday, and Harry had never even seen what they looked like; although Aunt Petunia was Harry's mother's sister, she didn't have a single portrait, sketch, or painting of her younger sister.

His heart throbbed with the familiar ache that he felt when his imagination ran away with him. He knew so little about his parents, about himself… In fact, the only thing that Harry did know was his father's initials: "J.P.". He had only asked what the letters stood for once before, just after he found the vest in a small box of his father's things that was about to be sent to the market. Harry had been four years old at the time, still childlike and innocent.

Harry had stuffed the vest, the only thing he had been able to swipe without Dudley, who was playing with his new toy horse nearby, seeing, into his coat pocket and had continued on his way to take the eggs to the kitchen to Aunt Petunia. After she had snatched them out of his hands, snapping something about him praying that he hadn't broken any of them, Harry had looked up at her curiously.

"Madam?" Harry was never permitted to call his guardians Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon.

"What is it?" Aunt Petunia didn't look up from her work of cracking the eggs, but her voice did betray her irritation at being spoken to by her unwanted nephew. But Harry, always too inquisitive for his own good, plowed on boldly.

"What was my father's name?"

Even thirteen years later, Harry was glad he hadn't mentioned the vest, for Aunt Petunia surely would have taken it from him. Harry could still see the fear in her eyes at his innocent question.

"W-What did you say?" Her face was pale and her eyes were wide. Harry remembered noticing her hands trembling.

"I", Harry had stammered, unnerved at his aunt's distress over something that seemed so simple to him, "I asked what my father's name was…"

Aunt Petunia's fear suddenly went away, replaced by the cruel hatred that she always showed toward Harry. She slapped him smartly across his face and told him not to ask any questions about his parents ever again.

"They're _dead_", she'd spat insensitively at the crying child standing beside her. "They don't matter. They never did!"

Then she had slapped him across his other cheek as punishment for crying and ordered him to go back outside until he had collected at least another half-dozen eggs. Harry had spent the whole day outside in the chilly winter air, not daring to try to get back in the warm cottage before he had six more eggs.

Harry didn't know why he could remember that day so vividly, but he supposed it was because that was the day he learned not to _ever_ ask questions about his parents.

So, thirteen years later, Harry still didn't know his father's or his mother's name. In fact, he didn't even know his own surname, his aunt and uncle wouldn't even tell him that. It was almost as though they were trying to make sure he wasn't found, but Harry had dismissed that idea years ago. Being "found" required being searched after, and Harry didn't know anyone outside his home village of Little Whinging and the Dursleys were the only family he had in the world. No, they were probably just trying to make sure that Harry had to slave for them forever. If no one knew who he was, then no one could challenge the Dursleys' claim to Harry.

The idea of working for his aunt and uncle for the rest of his life pained Harry a little, but not much. He had never known anything but his enslaved existence with the Dursleys. The degradation and abuse of his life had become a sad norm, and Harry didn't expect anything else.

His morning reverie over, Harry shrugged on his vest, tried his best to smooth down his hair- he couldn't tell if he had done a proper job because he didn't have a mirror- folded up his blanket and laid it below the loft window, and climbed down the ladder, playfully jumping the last two ruts just as he had done since childhood. He had barely landed on the hard dirt that made up the barn floor before a large hand clamped down on Harry's hair, yanking him backwards towards his attacker.

"SO THIS IS WHERE YOU'VE BEEN ALL MORNING!" Uncle Vernon bellowed, grabbing the back of Harry's shirt. Harry bit his tongue till he tasted blood to keep from crying out; Uncle Vernon had purposely hit Harry's maimed back when he took hold of Harry's shirt.

"YOU'VE BEEN SLEEPING, HAVEN'T YOU, BOY?" Uncle Vernon's breath smelled foul as he shouted in Harry's face.

Harry wanted to look down, anything to shy away from his uncle's purple, raging face, but Uncle Vernon's vice-like grip on Harry's thick mess of hair kept his head pulled back.

"Yes, sir", Harry mumbled. Over the years, Harry had figured out that if he simply agreed with whatever Uncle Vernon accused him, no matter how difficult it was at times, things moved along a lot faster and they hurt a lot less.

"USELESS SCUM!" Uncle Vernon shoved Harry down to the ground.

Harry had barely enough time to push himself onto his hands and knees before his uncle's large, booted foot collided with Harry's backside, sending him flying forward.

"Get inside", Uncle Vernon ordered. His volume lowered, but his tone of disgust did not, "and see what your aunt needs done. While you've been lazing about in here, she's had to do everything this morning!"

Harry jumped up as quickly as he could, knowing that Uncle Vernon's temper was about to spike again.

"Yes, sir!" Harry bowed quickly to his uncle before breaking out in a run to get away from him before his unexpected luck ran out; he had _never_ been dismissed so easily after messing up.

When he was halfway to the cottage, Harry heard Uncle Vernon start bellowing once again.

"IF I COME INSIDE AND PETUNIA SAYS THAT YOU MISBEHAVED, I'LL CHANGE MY MIND AND WHIP THE HIDE OFF YOUR BACK, BOY!"

Harry ran even faster. He knew his uncle, and he knew that his threats were never idle.

* * *

><p>Vernon Dursley watched the boy enter the cottage, and felt a sense of dread solidify in his gut.<p>

The boy had always resembled his father, but their similarities were becoming uncanny. Everything he had done to keep the boy from learning the truth would be in vain if anyone that had ever known Petunia's dead brother-in-law saw the boy.

Vernon tried to tell himself that he was worrying over nothing. The boy didn't even know his own surname! He had no idea who his parents were, or even what they looked like. If a stranger asked the boy if he was who they thought he was, the boy would deny it, and the stranger would think that he had made a mistake and would apologize. If a passing traveler questioned the boy about his identity, the boy would sheepishly tell the traveler that he didn't know, and the traveler would smile sympathetically at the boy they assumed was the village idiot.

These reassuring thoughts made Vernon Dursley's face spread into a grin of satisfaction and his anxiety fade away. He and his wife had done well- the boy was completely in the dark and Vernon was going to keep it that way.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Please RR. (: Thanks.**_

_**AN: Just so there's no confusion, this story is set in medieval times in an imaginary kingdom that I have yet to name and there is no magic. Sad, I know, but I royally stink at writing magic stories… It's going to be really awkward if you guys think I royally stink at writing non-magic stories, too… Oh, well, can't be helped. 3 **_


	2. The Green Eyed Boy

_**3 I do not own Harry Potter or anyone from the Harry Potter books/films. If I did, I would not be writing **__**FAN**__**fictions about Harry Potter or anyone from the Harry Potter books/films. That is all. 3**_

_**BTW- Thanks for everyone who reviewed/favorited so quickly! And this is a Harry/Hermione story. I love Hermione/Ron in the books, but after seeing Deathly Hallows Part 2, I totally realized that Dan and Emma have waaayyyy more chemistry than Emma and Rupert. So... Sorry Ron/Hermione fans! **_

**Chapter 2**

_**The Green-Eyed Boy…**_

Hermione Granger grabbed the carriage window sill to steady herself. She heard her father grunt as he bounced awake. She blew a stray curl out of her face angrily. She was _so_ tired of these country roads and their never-ending bumps! Papa straightened his cape and hat before leaning out of his window.

"Driver", he called out in his deep, authoritative baritone.

"Sorry, Magistrate", Hermione heard the coachman shout. "There ain't any help for hittin' 'em!

"He's right, sir", Master Granger's valet confirmed from his perch beside the hired driver. "The roads here are nearly impassable!"

"Codswallop, boy!" The man cracked the reins across the horses' backsides as if to prove that there was no road that he and his team couldn't handle.

Master Granger pulled himself back inside the carriage just in time to avoid a low-hanging tree branch. Hermione giggled a little at her father's unruly appearance.

"Are you all right, Papa?"

The muscled, tough-looking man glared at his daughter with a frown that didn't meet his eyes. They were nutmeg and sparkly, just like Hermione's. Father and Daughter sat in silence for a moment, each trying to see who would give in first.

Hermione won, just as she always did. Master Granger couldn't even pretend to be angry with his only child for too long.

"Ach!" Master Granger swatted away the quiet moment as though it were a pesky fly and pulled Hermione onto his lap. Hermione could see his bright smile through his prickly, salt-and-pepper beard.

"I can't frown at my lovely pearl for more than a wink", he laughed. "It's dangerous for a man to be so enraptured with one lady!"

"But you wouldn't have it any other way", Hermione teased, tapping his nose playfully.

"That's the truth of it, my girl." Papa's smile fell a little bit and some of the sparkle went out of his eyes. "That's the truth of it…"

Hermione's face softened and her eyes misted over.

_ He still misses Mama __**so**__ much_…

Hermione's mother had been taken a little over a year ago by the influenza epidemic that had swept through their town of Hogsmeade killing over twenty people. Hermione herself had come down with the sickness, but had pulled through. Her mother, Alice, always weaker and daintier than Hermione, had not.

Papa had been so devastated by the loss of his dear wife that he had requested a new post in a town far from Hogsmeade. Hermione had begged him not to transfer, but her pleas had fallen on deaf ears.

"I'm sorry, my pearl", Papa had sighed, "but it's time for us to be moving on."

Hermione was terribly sad to leave her mother's grave, but her grief was only added to by having to leave the only place she had ever really called home. They had lived there for over three years; the longest Hermione had ever stayed in one place. Papa's career as a commissioned magistrate required him to move around a good bit; although he liked the traveling, especially since Mama's death, Hermione didn't. But she would never accept her other family members' offers for her to live with them. She would never leave Papa. He needed her, and she needed him.

Hermione's own mourning for her mother was often put on hold, as it was now in the carriage, by her father's greater sadness. She plastered on a fake smile and tried to revive the playful atmosphere from earlier.

"Of course it is! _I_ said it, didn't I?" She tilted her head imperiously, but the smirk never left her lips. "And we both know that I am _always_ right."

Papa let out a booming laugh and pulled Hermione tighter. Hermione's true grin returned as she felt her father's joy. Oh, how she loved him…

Hermione had just enough time to notice an average-sized barn and a tidy cottage when a sudden jolt sent Hermione and her father sailing into the floor of the carriage. Hermione heard the driver curse as the carriage tilted dangerously to the right, finally landing on its side. Hermione let out a small scream before she rolled uncontrollably into the fallen side of the vehicle. She gasped and covered herself with her traveling cloak as shards of glass flew toward her, the result of Papa's elbow colliding with the carriage window.

Hermione strained her ears to hear if Cedric, Master Granger's valet, was all right. She relaxed when she heard his smoldering voice mutter angrily, "'Codswallop', eh?"

The hired driver mumbled something back that Hermione couldn't hear before Cedric called out, "Master! Mistress Granger! Are you all right?"

"Aye, boy", Papa hollered. He shook the glass of his bloody elbow like it was harmless dust. He stood up, looking a little winded as he helped Hermione to her feet.

Her body ached all over, but she wasn't bleeding and nothing felt broken, only bruised. She stood up shakily, holding onto the side of the lopsided carriage for balance. Hermione's small stature allowed her plenty of room to stand, but Papa's tall frame made him stoop down to keep from hitting his head.

Hermione heard Cedric trying to climb onto the top of the carriage while the driver tended to the frightened horses. After a few moments, she heard Cedric's body slide to the ground with a painful thump. Hermione's heart broke when she heard him cry out.

"Cedric!" Hermione hated not being able to see what was happening to him or if he was hurt or not.

"What happened, lad?" Papa called out as he tried to open the door of the left side of the carriage that was now over their heads. It seemed to be stuck.

"I fell, sir", Cedric moaned. "I cut my hand during the accident, and the injury is preventing me from climbing, Master."

"Bother", Papa mumbled angrily. "Well, boy, you're going to have to figure something out, because the handle is jammed. It can only be opened from the outside."

"Yes, sir…"

Hermione turned to her father, about to rebuke him for being unsympathetic, when a young man's voice shouted to them.

"Hagrid", the boy called out anxiously. "Hagrid are you all right?"

"Aye", the driver, whose name was apparently Hagrid, answered. "Aye, just a bit o' trouble goin' over that big ole oak root back there", Hagrid laughed. "This here city-coach ain't built for the likes of Little Whinging's roads!"

The stranger didn't laugh. Instead, Hermione heard him run straight to Cedric.

"Are you hurt?" Hermione could hear the new boy helping Cedric to his feet.

"No", Cedric answered brusquely, obviously a little offended at being caught on the ground.

"Say, lad", Hagrid called out suddenly after a few moments of silence, as though he'd forgotten to mention something, "why don't you 'elp me get those passengers out of that there carriage? I got me the new magistrate in there and-"

As if on cue, Hermione's father finally burst through the door. It flew off its hinges and landed somewhere beside the carriage. Papa pulled himself up through the empty doorway, only grimacing slightly at the pain it caused his injured elbow. Hermione listened for someone outside to say something, but there was complete silence from the onlookers.

As soon as Papa was on top of the carriage, Hermione climbed through the doorway skillfully and without help. Even though she was a "city girl", she had been in far worse scrapes than this. Her father was a fair and just magistrate and had earned himself many enemies who saw fit to try and end the life of Master Granger and oftentimes his young daughter. Hermione had seen her fair share of danger and violence and didn't flinch away from it like most girls her age.

Papa stood up to his full height. Hermione knew that the men below the impressive magistrate must have been intimidated by him, and she was right. Cedric, clutching his bleeding hand, studied the ground intently, his incredibly handsome features hidden from view; and Hagrid, although massive himself, stared up at Master Granger in awe. Hermione's eyes searched for the stranger, but she couldn't see him.

"Excuse me?"

Both Hermione and her father turned around at the sound of the quiet voice. Hermione leaned over the right side of the carriage and instantly met a pair of startling emerald eyes.

Hermione's breath was momentarily taken away at the sight of the boy's eyes. They were easily the most beautiful color she had ever seen in her entire life, even more striking than her late mother's blue irises. They swam with emotion, sparked with life, and shone with a kindness that Hermione had seen in very few people. It was the sort of kindness that was ingrained in the soul, not taught from a parent or a schoolbook.

The boy seemed equally as entranced by her, although Hermione couldn't imagine why. She had never considered herself a beauty with her long, sometimes unmanageable brown hair and her wide, cinnamon-colored eyes. Her figure was average, her height was average, and her skin was average… If it weren't for her loud mouth and commanding personality, Hermione thought that she would simply blend in with her surroundings.

After a few breathless moments of staring, the boy shook his head and ran his hand through his wild raven hair. This seemed to clear his thoughts, and his demeanor became friendly and respectful instead of dumbstruck and silent.

"Mistress, if you'll allow me…" He held out his arms to help her down. "Coming down will be much easier on this side of the carriage."

Hermione nodded, still awestruck by the boy's emerald stare…

_ Stop it. Get a hold of yourself. Speak!_

"Thank you", Hermione said, pleased to hear that she was regaining control of herself.

The boy smiled and took her hands, easing her toward the edge of the carriage. Hermione could feel the callouses on his rough palms through her leather gloves, but she didn't mind. She felt safe knowing that the boy had done some work in his life and most likely wouldn't let her fall.

When the boy gently pulled Hermione off the carriage, she braced herself to jump to the ground, but the boy surprised her by catching her in his arms. He didn't stumble a single step and his grip on her never faltered. Hermione suddenly noticed that he was shirtless, but didn't mind for some reason. She could feel his taunt muscles ripple beneath her hands and the heat from his sweaty skin warmed her through her clothes.

The boy looked at her again, and this time Hermione noticed that he was very good looking. He wasn't as handsome as Cedric, but she had never met anyone who was. In fact, Hermione wouldn't call the boy handsome at all. He was a different kind of attractive altogether. He looked almost rough.

He had a jagged scar on his forehead that was partially obscured by his mop of black hair and another just below his jawline. This one, however, was clearly visible and made by a lash; Hermione had seen many of them on the criminals that her father had had to punish. These thin white scars were typically made when the whip curled over the offender's shoulder; the lash would sometimes clip the side of the victim's face as it came back over, leaving an ugly scar in its wake. The boy also had a purple bruise on his left cheekbone, the result of a recent backhand, Hermione wagered. She could feel more scars and wounds on the boy's back and noticed a particularly nasty bruise on his right collarbone.

Hermione's mind told her that this boy had to be a troublemaker, his whippings a result of his misbehavior and his bruises souvenirs from brawls. But her heart and her instincts told her that this boy was none of those things. He seemed so gentle and mild, and no one could fake the kindness Hermione had seen in his eyes.

The boy released Hermione into a standing position before turning to see if Master Granger needed any assistance. Hermione smiled at the gesture. She knew that her father wouldn't need any help, but at least the boy had offered.

"Mistress Granger!"

Hermione's heart fluttered when she heard Cedric's melodious voice, all thoughts and musings of the green-eyed boy fading away.

Cedric put his gloved hand on Hermione's shoulder lovingly, his golden eyes burning with their secret. "Are you hurt?" His voice was little over a whisper and it sent chills down Hermione's spine.

"Only from not being able to see you for the last four hours", Hermione whispered back. She leaned in closer to Cedric, letting his scent, a mixture of pipe tobacco and cologne, fill her up.

Cedric's eyes glistened with lust, and Hermione was surprised, just as she always was, that someone as perfectly _gorgeous_ as Cedric Diggory would want _her_. He turned so that his body was blocking Hermione from the view of her father, who had now descended from atop the carriage and was watching his servant and his daughter stonily.

"Well…" Cedric breathed, rubbing the tender area between Hermione's breasts seductively. Hermione unwillingly arched her back and sucked in a sharp breath at his experienced touch. "I suppose we will just have to make up for lost time later, won't we?"

Hermione's eyes glowed with excitement and her face flushed at the thought of making love to Cedric. He was _so_ very good at it… Although Hermione had no one to compare Cedric to seeing as he was the only man she'd ever been with, she couldn't imagine anyone's touch ever driving her mad like Cedric's did. Even though she knew she wasn't his first, Hermione did know that Cedric loved her. Why else would he choose her, plain little Hermione, over any other woman in the kingdom?

"Well, lad, I see that hand of yours has healed up nicely."

Hermione jumped, terrified that her father had seen Cedric touching her chest, but quickly saw that Cedric's injured hand was still resting on her shoulder. Cedric winked at Hermione, sending her world spinning, before turning around to face his master, his face an unreadable mask.

"Yes, Master", Cedric bowed, his meek façade in full swing. Hermione tried to hold in her smile, giddy at knowing something that her father did not. "Our new friend bandaged it up before jumping to Mistress Granger's rescue."

Hermione couldn't help but feel a little pleased at the terseness that she clearly heard in Cedric's voice.

_ He must be jealous_, Hermione thought with a smile.

"Apparently he came to your rescue as well, Diggory", Papa smirked at Cedric's obvious discomfort.

Papa reached around and pulled Hermione to him and away from Cedric. Hermione stiffened, hoping that her father would notice her anger; if he did, he never let on. Master Granger simply turned to the green-eyed boy and smiled at him proudly.

"Thank you, my boy", Papa said. His loud voice, trained to speak over large crowds of people, seemed to almost startle the boy, as did Master Granger's large hand moving to clamp down on his shoulder. Hermione noticed the boy flinch, but said nothing; she knew that her father had noticed as well, for he withdrew his hand.

"Well", Papa started back up again, "to whom do I owe my thanks, son?"

"Sir", the boy began timidly, trying to hold in a smile as he studied his shoes, "I only did what anyone would-"

"This 'ere's Harry, Master Magistrate, sir", Hagrid broke in with a huge grin, wrapping his massive arm around the boy's shoulders. This time, the boy didn't flinch. He seemed almost trusting of Hagrid.

"Lives just over there, sir", Hagrid continued, nodding to the quaint house and barn that Hermione had noticed just before the crash.

"I see", Papa nodded. "Now, who-"

"Finest lad you ever did see, Master Magistrate, sir", Hagrid interrupted, carried away with his enthusiasm. "Finest lad indeed!"

Hermione smiled at Hagrid's obvious love for the shy boy named Harry.

_ Harry_… Hermione tried it out over and over again in her head, and decided that the name fit the green-eyed boy.

Papa laughed his hearty, resounding chuckle, surprising both Hagrid and Harry. Hermione giggled at their astonished faces. She loved watching her father's good humor surprise people. Everyone who met him expected him to be just like all of the other magistrates- harsh, cold, and judgmental. Hermione knew that her father could be all of those things when the need arose, but she also knew that how he was now, laughing and making new friends, was how he truly was.

"Well, then", Papa grinned, his booming laugh still shaking his body, "perhaps the 'finest lad I ever did see' could help us on our way into town?"

Harry grinned and Hermione couldn't help but notice how nice his smile was. It wasn't charming and perfect like Cedric's, but it was still nice. It seemed honest somehow…

"Yes, sir", Harry nodded vigorously while Hagrid beamed down at him.

Hermione met Harry's vibrant eyes again and was once again unwittingly captivated by the green-eyed boy. She felt an odd connection with Harry at that moment, making Hermione wonder if she had ever met him before…

* * *

><p>Master Granger studied Harry intently. Something was wrong… He had seen those eyes before… Years before… Actually, when he thought about it, he felt like he had seen Harry before…<p>

_ That's impossible. You've never even been to this part of the country before, and by the looks of the boy, he hasn't done much traveling, if any. He's probably an indentured servant or some fool's slave, judging by his back… No… No, you don't know him… You don't know this __**Harry**__…_

And by the time Harry was leading Master Granger, Hermione, and the Diggory boy- Hagrid had elected to stay behind and look after the horses- towards his home so that he could clean up Master Granger's elbow and fetch them all some much-needed water, Magistrate Everest Granger had convinced himself that he had never seen the green-eyed boy before.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Please RR. (: Gracias.**_

_**A Note from Me, the Author: Just so we're clear, I'm not trying to write how Hagrid talks in the books. I have given Hagrid a much more writer/reader-pleasing dialect. If this upsets any of you so much that you don't want to continue reading my story, please let me know… I won't change how I'm writing him, but I'll appreciate the feedback. 3**_


	3. Familial Hatred

_**I do not own Harry Potter or anyone from the Harry Potter books/films. If I did, I would not be writing **__**FAN**__**fictions about Harry Potter or anyone from the Harry Potter books/films. That is all. (:**_

**Chapter 3**

_**Familial Animosity…**_

Harry couldn't help himself. He couldn't take his eyes off of her… He had to force himself to keep looking straight ahead at the cottage even though everything about Mistress Granger kept calling at him to turn around and find those warm, cinnamon eyes again…

Harry took a deep, shuddering breath when a very lovely scent surrounded him. It was a tantalizing mixture of strawberries, cocoa, and roses. The wind was tormenting him, blowing Mistress Granger's sweet aroma in his face, mocking him for daydreaming about something he could never have…

"So", Master Granger's booming voice made Harry flinch away from the new magistrate involuntarily. Harry had learned to associate loud voices with pain, "this is your home, Harry?"

Harry shook his head and ran his hand through his hair, partly to clear his head of thoughts of Mistress Granger, but mostly so that he could try to have a sensible conversation with Master Granger. After all, other than his loud voice and towering height the man really wasn't very frightening. Awe-inspiring and intimidating, definitely, but not frightening… At least, that's what Harry tried to tell himself…

"Yes, sir", Harry mumbled to the grass, sensing Master Granger coming up beside him.

The magistrate grunted in approval. "Have you lived here long?"

"Since I was a year old, sir."

Grunt. "Did your parents grow up here? I often find that these small villages tend to keep within themselves", he laughed easily.

Harry felt a pang in his stomach. He didn't want Master Granger to think he was an idiot who didn't know anything about his family, so he answered the man's question in a way that would keep him from asking anymore about Harry's parents.

"My parents died when I was a year old, sir. I was sent here to live."

Harry did know that much. Aunt Petunia was always saying something along the lines of, "Oh! We should have just tossed you into the river the day we found you here!" or, "I knew we should have sent you to the slave yards the day you were dumped on our doorstep!" when Harry would do something displeasing to her.

"Oh, son", Master Granger began; his tone was kind, but his volume only decreased a little bit. Harry was beginning to worry that Uncle Vernon would hear Master Granger and think that Harry was making all of the racket, "I'm so sorry…" Harry had expected that, everyone said it. "I lost my wife about a year ago." Harry wasn't expecting that.

Harry's watched the big, tough man's eyes, that Harry now noticed were the exact shade of Mistress Granger's, fill with unshed tears.

"The pain", he whispered, shocking Harry with his lack of volume, "it never really goes away, does it?"

Harry's mind was spinning. He was so confused; no one had _ever_ talked to him like this, not even Hagrid or Ron!

"I", Harry stammered, caught off-guard by the personal nature in which the conversation had turned, "I don't know, sir… I- that is, I don't think so, sir." Harry was acutely aware of how foolish he sounded, so he just knew that Master Granger was thinking it, too.

"Yes", Master Granger surprised Harry by agreeing. "Yes, I suppose it doesn't…"

Harry couldn't quite figure this man out. It almost seemed as though he _cared_ about Harry's life… No one had ever truly cared, except the Weasleys and Hagrid. Oh, most of the people in Little Whinging were friendly towards Harry, but they had never really taken the time to try and get to know him. They all knew as much as they wanted to. To them, Harry was just the strange, quiet, nameless boy who lived with the Dursleys.

But this stranger, this new magistrate, was actually asking Harry about his family! And not just about his family, but how he felt about losing them! Was it possible that Master Granger was genuinely concerned and curious about Harry?

_Stop being foolish! He doesn't care about you; he's only asking you all of these questions because he's the new magistrate. He just wants to know if you're going to be causing him any trouble, that's __**all**__._

Harry shook his head and ran his hand through his hair to clear all of those ridiculous, sentimental ideas about Master Granger taking an interest in him out of his mind. He had to have his head on straight because they had just reached the door to the cottage.

Suddenly, Harry's palms starting sweating. He was starting to wish that he had never made the offer for the new magistrate, his servant, and his beautiful daughter to come into the Dursleys' house. Harry himself was only ever allowed in the house when he was needed. But nothing could be done about it now. The Grangers and the Diggory servant were already standing at the cottage door. Harry swallowed nervously and offered up a silent prayer that nothing would go terribly wrong.

"Well", Harry croaked. He mentally slapped himself; he sounded like he was about to be beaten by Uncle Vernon, not about to enter a house, "here we are." Harry was pleased to hear that his voice had leveled.

Harry pushed the door open tentatively, inexplicably thinking of Mistress Granger and how he hoped that she wouldn't be too disappointed in the humble abode. His eyes darted around the kitchen, but no one was in there. Harry walked inside, taking care to wipe his feet the best he could on the thatched mat outside the doorway.

The others followed Harry, none of them making a sound. Harry was very grateful that they had picked up on the gravity of the situation. He walked nervously into the main room of the cottage, stopping as soon as he spied Aunt Petunia's black hair. She was sitting in her rocking chair knitting, her stiff back facing Harry.

"Um", Harry began quietly, fearing the outburst that he knew would most likely come from him speaking to her without being spoken to first, "Madam?"

She didn't look at him. She didn't even move. She had either not heard him, or was ignoring him, and Harry seriously doubted that it was the latter. Aunt Petunia relished any opportunity to scream at Harry and slap him around. So, even though his gut instinct was telling him not to, Harry moved from where he was standing to a few feet in front of Aunt Petunia's chair.

"Madam?" Harry spoke a little louder this time, but the timidity was still there.

This time she heard him. She looked up from her knitting, sparks jumping at Harry from her black eyes.

"What", she began angrily, standing up from her chair, "are _you_ doing in my house? I didn't call for you."

She started stalking towards Harry, never even noticing the guests behind her. Harry knew he had to stop her before she struck him; he didn't want Mistress Granger to see him getting bullied by his aunt who was a good bit smaller than he was.

"Madam-"

"Shut your _ungrateful _little-"

_Crash_.

Harry's eyes shot up from the floor. He looked toward the noise and was shocked at what he saw.

Mistress Granger was standing by an overturned table, surrounded by the broken remains of a clay bowl. Her face was anxiously repentant and her small hand was held over her open mouth.

"Oh, forgive me, Madam!" Mistress Granger's brown eyes were wide with contrition. "I'm so uncoordinated."

"That…" Aunt Petunia's face was confused as she looked back and forth between Harry and the unexpected guests in her home. "That's quiet alright…"

Master Granger stepped forward. His face was a mask of cordiality, but his eyes were stony.

"Madam, I am terribly sorry to surprise you this way. You must be in an awful state of shock at seeing strangers in your home." Harry thought he heard a little sarcasm in Master Granger's voice, and allowed himself a little smirk at Aunt Petunia's turned back.

"I am Magistrate Everest Granger", Master Granger continued, offering Aunt Petunia a polite bow. "Sir Kingsley Shacklebolt, the head of the Magistrates Guild, has decided that Little Whinging has acquired enough citizens to require a magistrate. He has awarded me the honor of serving as Little Whinging's first magistrate."

"Oh!" Aunt Petunia smoothed her hair and straightened her dress. Her eyes lit up with the knowledge that she had the most influential person in Little Whinging in her home. "Forgive me, Magistrate, I had no idea-"

"No apology necessary, Madam." He gave Aunt Petunia a smile. "This is my valet, Cedric Diggory", Master Granger gestured to Diggory, who bowed and gave Aunt Petunia a charming smile. To Harry's disgust, she looked flustered and flattered by the handsome servant.

"And this", Master Granger rubbed Mistress Granger's arm lovingly, his gaze immediately softening, "is my daughter, Hermione."

_Hermione_... Harry couldn't think of a more suitable name for such a beautiful creature.

"I'm so pleased to meet you all!" Aunt Petunia's voice was sickeningly sweet. "I am Petunia Dursley and this is my home. I live here with my husband and son." Harry wasn't surprised that he was left out.

"I'm _so_ sorry about my accident, Madam Dursley…" Hermione stooped down to clean up the broken bowl.

"Oh, think nothing of it, Mistress Granger!" Aunt Petunia snapped her fingers at Harry and gestured harshly to the broken bowl. Harry nearly sprinted over to Hermione; he had been praying that Aunt Petunia would order him to help her, just so that he would have an excuse to be near the sweet-smelling, pretty-faced Mistress Granger.

"And please", Aunt Petunia continued, "don't trouble yourself with that mess, you might cut yourself! Let the boy take care of it."

She said "the boy" as though Harry was an afterthought, easily forgotten, but he was used to it so he didn't mind. He kneeled down in front of Hermione and gently took the broken piece she was holding out of her small hand. The last thing he wanted was for her dainty fingers to be bloodied and injured.

"Allow me, Mistress", he murmured. He kept his eyes down to avoid any more mesmerizing moments like he and Hermione had shared by the carriage. Aunt Petunia would probably notice and make sure Harry was punished for it later.

"Oh, I don't mind, Madam Dursley." Hermione continued to pick up the broken shards as though she hadn't heard Aunt Petunia or Harry. "After all, I did knock over the table."

"But it could not be helped, Mistress Granger!" Aunt Petunia's voice was shrill and it made Harry wince, just as it always did. "It was an accident."

Harry looked up at Hermione when he heard her giggle under her breath. Her face was masked in seriousness, but Harry could see the mirth dancing in her eyes.

"Yes…" Hermione winked at Harry, startling him and making him blush at the same time. The subtle action wasn't seductive or suggestive; it was playful, as though Hermione were letting Harry in on the secret to some game or trick. "Yes, it was… an _accident_."

Hermione's eyes challenged Aunt Petunia to say something. Harry was astonished. She had basically just admitted to knocking over the table on purpose!

_Wait…_ _Why would she do that? Surely she doesn't actually… __**care**__?_

Aunt Petunia forced out a laugh. Harry could tell that she was angry. She knew that someone had just tried to protect Harry from her and that was not alright with her, but Harry knew that Aunt Petunia would _never_ say anything disrespectful to the magistrate's daughter. Even though he knew that he would be punished for Hermione's actions later, Harry couldn't help but feel more than a little satisfaction at Aunt Petunia being put in her place, even if it was just for a moment.

* * *

><p>Petunia Dursley watched the righted and repaired carriage carry away the Grangers and their dashing servant. She had made sure that they were given cool water and pieces of bread while Hagrid and Harry had righted and repaired, to the best of their abilities and limited resources, the overturned carriage, and then the important guests had headed on their way. Petunia was more than a little disappointed that Mistress Granger had been unable to stay to meet Dudley, who was gone fishing with some of his friends. However, she was sure that Mistress Granger would <em>adore<em> Dudley when she met him. He was so charming and adorable after all. Petunia couldn't understand why none of the village girls flocked after Dudley…

_It has something to do with __**him**__…_

Petunia's narrowed eyes watched Harry as he jogged back to his chores after the Grangers' carriage disappeared over the hill into town. He pulled off his sweaty shirt and tossed it on the ground before picking up the shovel and returning to his task of removing a large stump from Petunia's freshly-cleared gardening space. The boy felt Petunia's cold stare after a few moments and looked up at her, and Petunia saw, just as she always did when the boy's bewitching green eyes caught her dull brown ones, exactly why the girls of Little Whinging were oblivious to Dudley.

Petunia's hatred of her sister's child grew every time she saw his attractive form. He was just like Petunia's little sister… She was always the pretty one, with her thick auburn hair and curvy body… Petunia was left in the shadows, always the last chosen, always the last spoken to…

_But I won't have that happen to my Dudley_, Petunia thought, just as she had the day Harry had appeared on their doorstep.

Unfortunately, Petunia couldn't swap Dudley's wide, meaty girth for her nephew's toned, tan body or her son's thin blonde lock for Harry's thick, attractively untidy raven hair; but she could make sure that no one noticed the boy, just as she had every day since he unexpectedly and unwantedly arrived at her home sixteen years ago. She tamed his tongue, squashed his spirit, and curbed him to her will.

Yes, Petunia Dursley was getting her revenge… And since her no-good sister was dead, she was exacting her vengeance on the next best thing- her _darling_ baby sister's only child…

* * *

><p><em><strong>Please RR. (: Merci.**_

_**AN: Yeah… I apologize about how this chapter was kind of boring. It needed to happen so that we could move on with the rest of the actual story. And by the way, all the vague emotional ramblings that you're reading in the last section of every chapter are actually **__**very**__** important to the plot of the story. So… that's about it. If you have any questions about the characters, pairings, life, cheese- parmesan or otherwise- I'm here for ya'll.**_


	4. Fortune and Friends

_**I do not own Harry Potter or anyone from the Harry Potter books/films. If I did, I would not be writing FANfictions about Harry Potter or anyone from the Harry Potter books/films. That is all. (:**_

**Chapter 4**

_**Fortune and Friends…**_

"Oh, Dudders, look at this one! It will go perfectly with your eyes", Aunt Petunia exclaimed, holding up a sapphire-blue vest. It was very well-made and expensive. Harry couldn't help but wonder, just as he had many times before, where the Dursleys got all of their spending money. Uncle Vernon didn't have a paying job and he wasn't from a particularly wealthy family. The same could be said about Aunt Petunia.

Dudley stood about a foot away from his mother, his back to Harry, gazing longingly at the pastries in the bakery across the village square. He grunted and waved his hand distractedly at Aunt Petunia.

"Oh", Aunt Petunia gushed, "I knew that you would _love_ it!"

Harry ducked his head to hide his smirk. Aunt Petunia saw him. Her face changed immediately from the proud, loving look that she gave Dudley to the disgusted, hateful one she always gave Harry.

"Hold this." She tossed the blue vest on top of the huge pile of clothing already weighing down Harry's tired arms. Aunt Petunia's eyes spit fire as she snarled at Harry to stand completely still and not talk to anyone until she and Dudley came back from Madam Weasley's bakery; Dudley had started complaining about his "hunger", even though he had just eaten breakfast an hour ago. Harry mumbled a "Yes, Madam" before his aunt and cousin pranced out of Madam Malkin's clothing store.

"Would you like me to put those behind the counter, love?" Madam Malkin's kind face questioned Harry. "I could hold them till Madam and young Master Dursley return?"

Harry would have given anything to be able to accept Madam Malkin's offer, but he knew that he couldn't. If Aunt Petunia came back and saw that Harry hadn't obeyed her orders, there would be serious trouble when they returned home. And even if Harry managed to get the clothes back in his arms by the time Aunt Petunia saw him, Dudley would probably still notice that Harry had just picked them back up; despite being considerably dense, Dudley was very good at noticing things that were wrong with Harry or that Harry had done wrong.

"No, Madam", Harry smiled sadly. "But thank you for asking."

Madam Malkin smiled at him before going to a room at the back of her shop.

Harry watched her go, and then leaned against the wall beside the mirror nearest to him. He watched Aunt Petunia and Dudley walk into Madam Weasley's shop. His stomach growled at him; not because he was particularly hungry, but because he knew how delicious Madam Weasley's cooking was. He had tried a pastry once when he was about six years old after swiping it from a tray laden with sweets and deserts. Unfortunately, Dudley had seen him take the treat and had told his mother. Fortunately for Harry, Aunt Petunia was having some guests over for dinner so he hadn't been beaten for stealing the cake ("We don't want any mess before the guests arrive, Vernon!"). But Uncle Vernon did lock him in the cellar for the duration of the evening and part of the next day. When he finally remembered his nephew, Uncle Vernon let him out, but the damage was already done.

Harry was still terrified of that small, cold, black pit behind the Dursleys' house. It was one of the main reasons that Harry did his best not to anger or disobey his relatives, even Dudley. Harry would take the beatings, lashings, and degradations over that tiny prison cell any day.

_I wonder if my mother liked pastries... She must have. Maybe she even baked some for me when I was a baby! I bet they were just like Madam Weasley's… No! Better than Madam Weasley's… She probably let me eat as many sweets as I wanted to… Then Father would come in after working all day and complain about how Mother was spoiling me… Mother would laugh and silence his good-natured grumblings by feeding one of her cookies to him…_

Harry lost himself in one of his imaginary memories to banish the breathlessness that came over him when he thought about or saw the cellar. Soon, the trauma and terror of that night eleven years ago were exactly where they belonged: in the past. They were replaced by the warmth and happiness that Harry associated with his parents.

It was peculiar, Harry thought, that his faux remembrances seemed to be stronger than his real experiences. The actual memories that Harry had were like hot flashes, quickly there and quickly gone. But his imagined memories with his parents… They were like a winter's eve fire, soaking into your skin like sunlight. Harry drank them in… He craved them…

He supposed he was crazy, missing two people so much that he had no recollection of. But then, he figured that it wasn't so much his parents he missed as much as all he had missed out on by not having them in his life. Growing up in Little Whinging with tons of families that were as normal and as functional as possible, it was only natural that Harry would feel lost and lonely without loved ones of his own...

When he watched the Dursleys pamper and fawn over Dudley, he yearned for a mother and father to praise _him_. Every time Harry saw Madam Weasley fussing over and taking care of her many children, his heart yearned for a mother that would make sure that _he_ wore _his_ coat when it was cold outside and constantly badger _him_ about how _his_ day had gone even when he said he didn't want to talk about it. Whenever Harry saw Master Weasley giving advice and counsel to his sons who always seemed like they wanted to be anywhere but with their father during his lectures, Harry longed for a father that would teach _him_ how to fish or ride a horse, things that Harry had had to learn on his own, and that would wrap his strong arm around Harry's shoulders and give him advice about girls… About Hermione Granger…

_Hermione Granger… She looked __**so**__ beautiful when she was at my house three days ago… She looks just as breathtaking today. Too bad she has to talk to Dudley out-_

Harry nearly dropped the clothes when he realized who Hermione was talking to outside by the livery stables. Dudley was trying to have a sensible conversation with her, but he seemed to mainly just be standing there gaping at her with his mouth open. Harry didn't really blame his cousin. None of the girls in Little Whinging ever looked as elegant and put-together as Hermione did in her dark green riding cloak. Harry watched as she twirled one of her curls that had fallen out of her pearl-embellished braid with annoyance. He felt a thrill of delight as he realized that she was trying to get away from Dudley. Unfortunately, Aunt Petunia would hear nothing of Hermione leaving. She kept pulling at Hermione's sleeve every time Hermione tried to escape to her waiting white horse.

Finally she broke away from Harry's enormous cousin and bony aunt. Harry saw her relieved face when she turned away from Petunia and Dudley; it made him laugh. He watched her mount her horse and purposefully ignore the Dursleys as Aunt Petunia tried to continue their conversation and Dudley wordlessly held out his arms to her as if hoping she would come to him. Her annoyance changed to a frantic need to get as far away from them as possible. She dug her heels into the side of her stallion and Harry's heart dropped into his stomach- he knew what was about to happen. He watched the steed toss his great head and stamp his back legs. The horse was going to bolt.

Harry, regardless of the consequences, knew that he needed to help Hermione. He unceremoniously dropped Dudley's prospective wardrobe on the floor of Madam Malkin's and darted straight out the shop door when he heard a sharp whinny and two frightened screams, none of which came from Hermione.

"Harry!" Madam Malkin called after him as he dashed into the square. "Does Madam Dursley still want these clothes?"

Harry ignored Madam Malkin. He had one purpose in mind: to stop that horse. He could hear the pounding hooves as Hermione's stallion tore through the village square, its rider grasping the horse's long mane desperately. With horror, Harry realized that the spooked animal had jerked the reins from Hermione's hands. She had no control over her horse. That was going to make stopping the steed more difficult, but not impossible.

The commotion caused by the wild horse had caused most of the villagers to filter into the village square to see what was happening. They crowded the street and most of them froze in panic. Harry, eyes focused solely on Hermione and her galloping horse, ran into a stationary villager, knocking both himself and the man to the ground. Harry gasped when he hit the hard dirt. His fall knocked the breath out of him and it took him a few seconds to sit up.

"Watch where you're going, boy!" the man snarled at Harry from the ground.

Harry didn't even apologize. He tried to get up as fast as he could, but everyone was shoving and shouting as they tried to get out of the way of the charging horse. Harry finally managed to push his way out of the throng of panicked villagers, but quickly realized that he wasn't going to be able to make it to the other side of the square- which was where the stallion was headed- in time to stop the beast. Dread flowed through him, until he saw a wave of blazing red pour out of the bakery. Harry spotted Ron immediately. He stood at least a head taller than all of his family members.

"RON!" Harry screamed. He ran as fast as he could toward the bakery. "STOP THE HORSE!"

Ron didn't question Harry, but his face was deadly pale and drawn as he determinedly shoved his way to the front of the Weasley pack and darted straight into the path of the horse.

"RON!" Madam Weasley shouted, true panic and fear evident in her voice. But there was no time for her to pull Ron out of the way. Hermione and her mount came straight at Ron.

Ron bravely raised his arms, stood his ground, and shouted "WHOA!" just like Harry had taught him. However, Ron's "WHOA!" came out as more of a squeak than a loud, authoritative boom. As such, the horse was only spooked by Ron's sudden appearance in its path, so it didn't completely stop. It only reared up, sending Hermione rolling off its back onto the ground. Ron dropped straight to the ground with a yelp at the horse's frightening stance. Harry was sure that the stallion would trample Ron and Hermione before he could get over to them, when the horse turned from the two young people lying in the dirt road. It changed directions, this time charging straight at Harry. But Harry wasn't afraid. He had seen all he needed to see and he knew exactly what to do. Harry simply stood right where he was, calmly facing the massive animal.

"HARRY! THROW UP YOUR ARMS!" Ron, who had shakily risen to his knees, demonstrated his instructions by repeatedly throwing up his own long arms.

Harry knew that an intelligent, rational man should have been terrified to see the wild stallion charging straight at him, but all that Harry could do was smirk at how franticly avian Ron looked flapping his lanky arms.

Time seemed to slow down as the horse came nearer. Harry could see every ripple of its muscles, every flash of its wild eyes… He observed the sweat on the animal's coat, even though the horse hadn't been ridden much more than five minutes… This steed wasn't angry. He was frightened.

Harry felt the horse's fear and pain as though they were his own. He had always seemed to understand horses, their actions and movements making perfect sense and moving in supernatural harmony with Harry's own. They were alike, Harry and the large creatures. They had all been raised in captivity. Harry tried to meet the runaway horse's eyes, but the animal was so terrified that it acted irrationally. When the stallion saw that Harry wasn't going to move, it picked up speed.

"Harry!" Hermione shouted anxiously. "Get out of the way! He's gone _mad_!"

"No", Harry answered back calmly. "He hasn't."

Just as Harry knew he would, the horse made an effort to turn to the left of Harry in order to continue down the road. But Harry was prepared and grabbed the wildly flapping reins attached to Hermione's mount's bridle. Harry was yanked by the horse for about five seconds. Then the horse suddenly stopped struggling. The majestic animal stood perfectly still, its glossy eyes gazing at Harry and his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Easy there", Harry whispered, soothingly stroking the frightened, panting horse's long neck. "Everything is all right now…"

Harry barely noticed that the square was completely silent and almost entirely empty of villagers. He was focused solely on the fantastic creature in front of him. The horse's raw terror faded away as its breath slowed and evened. Harry rested his forehead against the horse's massive face; he had developed this technique when he was nine years old, apparently old enough and strong enough to look after the Dursleys' horses. Harry felt that if the horse could meet your eyes, it would know whether you were trustworthy or not.

"He's not crazy", Harry mumbled to himself. "He's scared."

The horse rubbed its head against Harry's chest, silently thanking him and letting him know that it trusted him. Harry smiled softly at the beautiful animal. What he wouldn't give to have a horse like this one…

"Harry!" Ron and Hermione sprinted over to where Harry was, breaking the trance between Harry and Hermione's horse.

"Why did you do that, mate?" Ron slapped Harry on the back as he laughed with relief. "I thought that Firebolt was going to grind you into dust!"

Harry crinkled his brow. _Firebolt_?

"That's his name", Hermione explained. Harry noticed that she was filthy and had a small scrape on her right cheek, but was otherwise unharmed. However, her breath was labored and she was white with fright. Had she been worried about _him_?

_No, of course not! She could have been seriously hurt. __**That**__ is why she looks anxious. She doesn't care about you…_

"Are you two all right?" Harry asked, trying to put his feelings aside.

"Fine", Hermione answered for both of them. Ron eyed her with disbelief.

"Just saw my life flash before my eyes twice in ten seconds, but other than that, I'm fine."

Harry laughed at Ron's characteristic humor. Hermione looked at them both, trying to decide whether or not Ron was jesting.

"I'm serious, Harry!" Ron exclaimed. "That was _terrifying_! Don't ever ask me to do anything like that ever again. I might have been _killed_!"

"Excuse me", Hermione interjected, her voice affronted, "but I do believe that _I_ was the one in true peril."

"Excuse me, but I would much rather be on top of a monstrous animal than under him", Ron matched Hermione's tone.

"Yes", Harry smirked, "but since Mistress Granger ended up both _on top_ of Firebolt _and_ under him, I think she was the one in 'true peril'."

Ron stared at Harry openmouthed. Harry himself was surprised that he had made such a cheeky statement. Hermione laughed out loud, startling Harry and Ron out of their shock. She continued laughing uncontrollably.

"Are you all right?" Ron asked her a small smile appearing on his face.

Hermione didn't answer. She just continued laughing, clutching her stomach.

"Why are you laughing", Harry chuckled.

Hermione's mirth was contagious, and suddenly both Harry and Ron found the whole situation incredibly comical as well. Harry had no idea why they were laughing, except that they were so relieved that none of them had been killed. Harry's face was sore. He had never laughed this hard in his entire life. It was so rare that he had a reason to be this happy.

"RONALD WEASLEY!"

The trio's wild laughter was interrupted by Madam Weasley running over and whacking Ron on the back of his head.

"Aw, Mother", Ron whined, rubbing the back of his head, "why did you have to go and do that?"

Madam Weasley shook her finger at Ron. "You almost got yourself run over by that wild beast, Ron!"

Ron paled at his mother's anger. "Y-yes, _but_ I did it to save Mistress Graven-"

"_Granger_", Harry and Hermione corrected Ron in whispers.

"_Granger_", Ron began again, trying to pretend that he hadn't said the wrong name, "from certain death!"

"Yes, well", Madam Weasley's temper was cooling, "that's very noble… But what about _your_ 'certain death', Ronald Weasley?" She wrapped Ron in a tight embrace. "You scared me to death!"

"I'm fine, Mother", Ron's ears were pink with embarrassment as he tried to wriggle away from Madam Weasley's relieved kisses. His blush darkened as his older twin brothers, Fred and George, pointed and laughed about Ron being "ickle Ronniekins".

Harry heard thundering footsteps and turned to see Magistrate Granger rushing towards Hermione. He wrapped his strong arms around her and buried his bearded face in her messy hair.

"Oh, thank God you are all right!"

"I'm fine, Papa", Hermione assured her father, kissing him gently on the cheek.

Harry watched both families. They were so different, but the love that they all shared for each other made them extremely similar.

The Weasleys- excluding Master Weasley who was working on their farm, Bill, the eldest, who was helping with the planting, and Charlie, the second eldest, who didn't live in Little Whinging anymore- were clustered around Ron. Madam Weasley still wouldn't let go of Ron; Percy, the third eldest in the Weasley clan, was admonishing Ron severely about the foolishness of his actions; Fleur, Bill's _gorgeous_ foreign wife, was commending Ron on his astounding bravery which caused Ron to grin stupidly and puff out his chest importantly; Fred and George, now joined by Ginny, the youngest and only Weasley daughter, were still poking fun at Ron.

The Grangers were much less rowdy and rambunctious than the numerous Weasleys. They simply stood there holding each other and smiling, Magistrate Granger stroking his daughter's hair lovingly.

Turning his attention back to Firebolt, Harry tried to squelch the longing in his heart as he stood off by himself. He patted the horse's long neck, praising him for being calm.

"Harry, my boy", Magistrate Granger boomed. Harry stopped himself from wincing, but his shoulders still stiffened, expecting a blow, "thank you! You've saved my daughter once again." Magistrate Granger shook Harry's hand emphatically. Harry looked down uncomfortably. He wasn't accustomed to being thanked for anything. "You truly are a brave man, son."

"You flatter me, sir", Harry mumbled to his shoes, trying to hide his smile at being called "son". "But I was not the one who truly saved Mistress Granger. Ron stopped the horse first."

Magistrate Granger turned to Ron, who had moved to stand by Hermione. "Then I owe you thanks as well, Ron."

Ron face lit up at being praised by the magistrate. "No trouble at all, Master Magistrate, sir!"

Hermione rolled her eyes at Ron's formality.

Magistrate Granger laughed loudly and slapped Ron on the back. George snorted loudly as Ron stumbled and coughed from the force of the magistrate's strong arm. Magistrate Granger didn't notice.

"You're a good lad, Ron!" He turned to Harry, who noticed that the magistrate didn't try to touch him like he had Ron. "You both are. The two of you deserve rewards!"

Ron nodded wholeheartedly, to Hermione's great amusement. Harry stood there silently. He knew that whatever Magistrate Granger gave him, he would never be allowed to keep…

"I say that you boys and your families shall join us for dinner tonight." The magistrate turned to his daughter. "What do you say to that, Hermione?"

Hermione grinned. "I say that it is a splendid idea, Papa."

Magistrate Granger laughed and put his arm around Hermione's small shoulders. "Then it must come to pass!" He politely looked to Madam Weasley, whose face was rapt with excitement, for approval of his plan. She nodded her acquiesce to the great delight of the five present Weasleys.

"I will tell my husband, sir", Madam Weasley said.

"Perfect!" Hermione exclaimed.

Magistrate Granger's eyes met Harry's. His smile faded. He walked over to Harry, away from the Weasleys and Mistress Granger.

"Forgive me, Harry", Magistrate Granger whispered. "My offer was thoughtless."

Harry smiled even though his chest hurt at the thought of missing such a fun evening. "It's all right, master."

"No, it's not all right", the magistrate seemed truly sorry. "I didn't consider-"

"Oh, Magistrate, don't fret!"

Harry spun around. At some point Aunt Petunia had crept up behind him and heard his and Magistrate Granger's conversation. She wore an unconvincing mask of happiness and admiration. Harry knew her pride and joy were staged because she never, _ever_ looked at him like that.

"The boy can attend your dinner party", Aunt Petunia simpered. "And we'll accompany him, of course. I mean", here she looked at Harry and he could tell how difficult it was for her to keep her façade going, "if we're not the boy's family, then who is?" She laughed easily. Harry almost joined her; her attitude was so ridiculously faked.

"Well, then…" Magistrate Granger trailed off, unsure of how to respond to Aunt Petunia's forced love for Harry. "We shall be honored to have you and your family join us."

"Oh, splendid", Aunt Petunia exclaimed, clapping her hands together girlishly.

Harry stared in shock. Surely Aunt Petunia didn't mean for him to go? He never got to attend any sort of social gathering, except for the harvesting days, and he was only allowed to go to those days because it was expected that every family in Little Whinging supply at least one worker to bring in the crops. Surely this was just some cruel joke that his aunt was playing on him, getting his hopes up and then dashing them to bits by telling him that he, in fact, could not attend the Grangers' dinner party.

_But the party is in honor of Ron and me… They can't exactly go without me!_

Harry's face lit up. There was no way that the Dursleys could spoil tonight for him. He was going to Hermione Granger's house for dinner and, unless he was imagining it, the brown-eyed girl looked just as delighted as he felt.

* * *

><p>Ron Weasley looked back and forth between Harry and Hermione Granger. Harry's emerald eyes were locked on Hermione and he was <em>grinning<em>. Harry never _grinned_!

Ron almost laughed with joy. Harry was his best friend in the whole world, but Ron had never been able to really make Harry happy. Ron tried, but Harry was so closed off and distrusting that Ron only really knew him halfway. They never really had enough time to be _really_ close friends, but they were the best each other had.

Being the youngest Weasley boy, Ron had always been overlooked and overshadowed by his older brothers. Bill was so good-looking that he had managed to marry Fleur Delacour, a well-bred girl from across the sea; Charlie was the adventurer, joining the crew of a silk trader's ship the day he turned eighteen years old; Percy was so intelligent that he had been granted the right to be correspondently tutored by Lady Minerva McGonagall, the Regent's private secretary, a right so rarely extended to those of the Weasleys' station; Fred and George were hilarious and loved by everyone, particularly the young ladies of Little Whinging, who chased Fred and George after losing Bill to Fleur Delacour; and Ginny, being the only girl in the Weasley family and very pretty and charming, was spoiled and treated well by everyone in Little Whinging, particularly the elderly widows who adored pampering her.

Ron was… well, just Ron. He wasn't as funny as Fred or George, as handsome as Bill, as daring as Charlie, as smart as Percy, or as socially competent as Ginny. The only thing that made Ron stand out from his huge family was his height. He was taller than every one of the other Weasleys, even though he was "the baby". Ginny, being the only girl, was always a little separated from the Weasley boys, so Ron was considered "the baby" even though he technically wasn't.

But even though he was picked on, laughed at, and sometimes ignored, Ron never felt alone because he had Harry. Ron knew that Harry didn't consider him a lifeline like Ron considered Harry, but he didn't care. Harry was someone that Ron could look after and that would look after Ron, even if Harry didn't even know it yet…

When Ron saw how Hermione looked at Harry, by what Harry had told him about how Hermione had "accidentally" knocked over the table when his aunt was bullying Harry, and how she had reacted when Ron and Harry both put themselves in danger for her, Ron knew that Hermione Granger was going to be his and Harry's friend. After all, there were certain things that you couldn't go through together without becoming friends, and saving each other from a raging, thundering stallion was one of them.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Please RR. (: Danke.**_

_**The Author has a Note for You All… Here it is: Sorry about the delay, guys. If you have any questions, please ask. And by the way, this story does have an actual storyline. I'm just trying to get the "foundation chapters" over with. This one is to set up the whole "Golden Trio" thing.**_


	5. A Perfectly Lovely Spring Evening

_**I do not own Harry Potter or anyone from the Harry Potter books/films. If I did, I would not be writing FANfictions about Harry Potter or anyone from the Harry Potter books/films. That is all. (:**_

**Chapter 5**

_**A Perfectly Lovely Spring Evening…**_

In Little Whinging, there are few pleasures like that of a spring evening. On such a night, you will often hear music drifting through the village square and laughter echoing over the hills as the villagers reward themselves and their families for a hard day's work. They gather together to dance, eat, and play games. The women bake only their finest and the men groom their horses till their coats gleam. The children collect their few toys, those that they don't mind the other children touching, and finish their chores with extra speed, waiting anxiously for the moment that Father will call them inside to clean up for the evening festivities. Then the Little Whinging residents, forgetting their farms and businesses for a few glorious hours, pile into their sturdy wagons draped with lanterns and laden with baked goods and children or start out on foot with songs on their tongues and baskets of suppertime delicacies on their arms. They all have different destinations depending on their social classes and circles, but one purpose: to have a good time.

It just so happened that the Grangers' last-minute dinner party fell upon one of these glorious spring evenings. As such, there was already a feeling of anticipation in the air which only added to the excitement of the three families invited, but particularly to the excitement of three young people.

Inside the impressive Granger house, Hermione Granger sat in front of the gilded mirror in her bedchamber while her newly hired maid, Cho Chang, wrestled Hermione's wild curls into a fashionable style. Hermione's brown eyes danced and her feet bounced up and down impatiently. She was so thrilled about the coming evening that she couldn't even focus on her open book and didn't even mind Cho's whiny voice! She couldn't _wait_ to see Harry and Ron again. For the first time since leaving Hogsmeade, Hermione felt like she had possible friends.

Three hills away from the Granger house, Ron Weasley was trying his best to get ready for the dinner party without the use of a looking glass. The Burrow, the Weasley house, being the home of the poorest family in all of Little Whinging, only had two mirrors; they weren't very good mirrors-one had a large crack down the middle and the other was so old and cloudy that you could barely see your reflection at all- but the Weasleys still squabbled over them intensely. Ginny and Fleur had laid claim to the grimy glass while Fred and George had swiped the broken one saying that it was perfect for them because the crack had split the mirror in two- one side for each of them. Usually Ron would have put up a fierce fight for one of the looking glasses, but tonight he was so happy that he didn't care; the Weasleys, being as impoverished as they were, were not often invited to dinner parties. Ron and Bill were using each other as mirrors, attempting to help the other with his appearance. Ron laughed and laughed as he and Bill dressed for the night, feeling for the first time in his life, that he didn't have to compete for anyone's attention tonight. The evening was about _him_.

About half an hour's walking distance from the Burrow, Harry was standing in Dudley Dursley's room with his back to a mirror. He was attempting to fasten the buttons on Dudley's new vest. The fabric was stretched to its limit. Harry offered up a silent prayer that the vest wouldn't pop open during the night. If it did, the Dursleys would likely find some way to blame Harry for it.

"Oh, Dudders!" Aunt Petunia rejoiced as she walked into Dudley's bedroom. "You look _so_ handsome!"

Harry held up Dudley's pale blue coat- also new- for Dudley to feed his arms through. He breathed a sigh of relief when his cousin's meaty arms slid into the sleeves effortlessly. Aunt Petunia probably would have slapped Harry for picking up the wrong coat in Madam Malkin's or for somehow shrinking the garment so that it wouldn't fit her _Dudders_.

"Let me see you, darling!" Aunt Petunia pushed Harry aside. Harry's face burned as she turned up her nose at his appearance. "Well, _you_", Harry knew that Aunt Petunia's emphasis was for his benefit, "look marvelous, Dudders."

Dudley brushed Aunt Petunia off and turned to look at himself in the full-length looking glass once again, completely ignoring her compliment. "Hermione Granger will _surely_ think so…"

"Yes, of course she will!"

Aunt Petunia kept trying to inch close to her son as though hoping that he would turn around with a squeal and a smile like he used to when he was a small child. Harry had tried it once when he was three years old after he saw how happy it made Aunt Petunia. He remembered thinking that he wanted to make Aunt Petunia love him like she loved Dudley so he'd tried wrapping his arms around her knees in a tight embrace.

"I _love_ you, Auntie 'tunia!" Harry had cried happily in his little voice.

Aunt Petunia had kicked Harry away from her before slapping him. She had screamed at him to never, _ever_ call her 'Aunt' or Vernon 'Uncle'. He was to call them 'Master' and 'Madam'.

"I will _not_ have people knowing that we are related to orphan _scum_ like you!"

Harry had cried out as she tightened her grip on his small arms, earning himself another slap across the face.

"Crying won't do _you_ any good." Aunt Petunia had shoved Harry to the kitchen floor before picking up Dudley lovingly, mocking Harry's unreciprocated affection towards her. "You are _nothing_ to me."

Harry, no longer the three year old toddler, ran his hand through his hair and shook his head. He would _not_ allow his memories to spoil the night for him. He hid his pain, just as he always did, while Aunt Petunia fawned over Dudley.

"I just can't believe how grown-up you look, Dudley!" Aunt Petunia's eyes filled with tears.

Harry didn't think that Dudley looked "grown-up" at all. He thought that, in his perfectly coordinated blue outfit, Dudley looked rather like a large blueberry.

"Yes…" Aunt Petunia surveyed Dudley's clothing critically. Harry knew that she was looking for any mistakes that he had made. After circling her son twice, Aunt Petunia frowned. "Well, I suppose you're ready."

Harry's nerves relaxed and his heart lightened. Maybe now that she couldn't find anything wrong with Dudley's attire, Aunt Petunia would allow Harry to get ready for the Grangers' dinner party.

_All right, just keep your head down and be respectful… Don't talk more than you must… Keep the conversation short…_

Harry took a calming breath. Then he quietly moved behind Aunt Petunia keeping his head down respectfully and standing five steps behind her, the customary distance between mistress and servant.

"Madam?" Harry's voice was soft, but loud enough for Aunt Petunia to hear him over her constant cooing at Dudley.

"Oh", Aunt Petunia rolled her eyes at Harry, annoyed at his existence, "_you_."

"Yes, Madam", Harry tried not to change his tone of voice even though her disgust at his face stung, just as it always did. "Will there be anything else?"

Aunt Petunia laughed coldly. Dudley joined her, his stupid chuckle quickly overshadowing her cruel giggle. "Oh, I suppose _you_ want to dress for the party, don't you, _boy_?"

"If it pleases you, Madam." Harry desperately wanted to simply say that he _did_ want to dress for the party, but a lifetime of being bullied by the Dursleys kept him from speaking his mind.

_No one will listen if you do anyway…_

"Well, it _doesn't_ please me…"

Harry heart dropped into his stomach. They were due at the Grangers' in an hour. It took almost an hour to get into town from their home, and Harry still hadn't been able to get ready. The Dursleys had each kept him busy all day. Aunt Petunia had kept Harry running back and forth between the garden and the kitchen; Uncle Vernon had ordered him to clean up the carriage, the horses, and the stables, always finding something horribly wrong with Harry's tasks and making him redo them. Dudley had even joined the game by yelling for Harry to bring him some food then tripping him when he brought the tray to his room, causing Harry to stop his other chores and clean up the mess Dudley had made.

But, despite all of their efforts, Harry's efficiency and experience won out. He was completely done with everything the Dursleys had assigned to him. All he had to do now was change into his clean clothes, the set he only wore to harvest time festivities and political holidays that everyone was obliged to attend, and try to get as cleaned up as he ever really was. But it seemed as though Aunt Petunia had other ideas…

"Anyway", she began again. Her focus was back on Dudley, but she still spoke harshly to Harry, "Vernon wants to see you downstairs. _Now_."

Harry bit back a groan.

_What did I do now?_

Harry tried to steady his racing heart as he walked downstairs. His emotions were a roiling mess. On one hand, he wanted to hurry and get his meeting with Uncle Vernon over and done with so that he could get ready. On the other hand, Harry didn't want to go downstairs _at all_. Anytime Uncle Vernon wanted to see him, Harry always came out on the negative end of the situation, the end often being the sting of a lash or the jar of Uncle Vernon's massive fist.

Harry was downstairs either too quickly or too slowly, he couldn't quite decide. Either way, he could hear Uncle Vernon's heavy breathing and the creaks in the floorboards as he stomped across them from inside the doorway of the main room. Harry moved to run his hand through his hair to clear his mind as he always did, but thought better of it. He imagined that he already looked dreadful enough with mussing up his hair even more. He satisfied himself with straightening his clothes and taking a deep breath before entering the room.

Uncle Vernon was adjusting his vest in the mirror that hung on the wall. Harry knew that his uncle could see him in the mirror, but he stood just inside the doorway, watching Uncle Vernon warily. Although propriety and station dictated Harry to stand five steps behind Uncle Vernon with his head bowed and make his presence known, experience won out over proper behavior. Harry knew that it served his best interest to do three things when summoned by his uncle: stay out of immediate arm's reach at all times if possible, _never_ lose sight of his fists for a moment, and make himself as invisible as possible for as long as possible.

It was several long moments before Uncle Vernon finally turned around. Harry's head bowed immediately but he kept his careful gaze on the larger man's hands.

"So you're finished with your work, are you?"

"Yes, master."

Uncle Vernon grunted before turning his back on Harry and picking up his glass of whiskey from off the bookshelf. Harry gulped shakily. Things always got worse when Uncle Vernon drank.

"Well, then", Uncle Vernon continued after a long drink, "isn't that just _fortunate_ for you, _boy_?"

_It's definitely about to get worse…_

Uncle Vernon smiled nastily before continuing. "Now all you have to worry about is the _inside_ of the house."

"_What_?" Harry's heart dropped.

"The house needs a thorough cleaning from top to bottom. There's no way you could have done that if we were here." Uncle Vernon walked towards the door past Harry. "Get started in here, boy."

Harry could hear his pounding heart in his ears. His blood was hot and he wasn't thinking clearly. He rarely _ever_ got angry at the unfairness of the Dursleys, but this was too much.

"But", Harry turned around to face Uncle Vernon, "it's _my_ party! The night is for me and Ron. You can't just-"

_CRACK_.

Harry had so caught up in his tirade that he hadn't noticed Uncle Vernon's hand swinging towards his face. The backhand whipped Harry's whole body to the left and he barely managed to stand upright. Uncle Vernon grabbed Harry around the throat before he'd stopped reeling from the blow. He slammed Harry back against the wall. He kept his grip on Harry's throat as he held him up a few inches off the floor. Harry struggled to breathe as he tried to pry Uncle Vernon's hand from his neck.

"DON'T TALK BACK TO ME, BOY!" Uncle Vernon screamed in Harry's face, the veins in his neck jutting out harshly and his face quite purple and red with rage. "DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"

"Y-yes… s-s-sir", Harry managed to rasp out in between his gasps for air.

Uncle Vernon lowered his voice menacingly. "Now, you _will_ stay here, boy, and you will _not_ go into town." He tightened his grip. "You can either obey me willingly or I'll make _sure_ you stay here… Your choice."

Even though his thoughts were a little sluggish at the moment, Harry was lucid enough to know what Uncle Vernon was implying: the cellar. Harry's eyes widened fearfully. He could see the tiny dark hole in his mind and was already feeling closed-in, cold, and _very_ small.

"I'll stay, I'll stay", Harry whispered frantically. "I… I p-promise I… I'll s-s-stay."

Uncle Vernon lifted Harry a little bit more, lessening his air supply. Harry tried in vain to inhale oxygen. Uncle Vernon held him there for ages, which was actually only a few moments, before dropping him to the floor. Harry crouched on his hands and knees, gasping for air. Uncle Vernon didn't say anything else as he left the room. A few seconds later, the front door shut and Harry heard the carriage drive away. At some point, Aunt Petunia and Dudley must have gone outside to wait.

Harry sat up and leaned his head against the wall, willing it to stop spinning. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He tasted blood inside his mouth and unshed tears burned his eyes. He fought the urge to cry. Harry _never_ cried. He learned early in life that tears changed nothing. So he sat there silently, alone in the empty house, as the sounds of the lovely spring evening sang outside.

* * *

><p>Hermione and Ron sat in the sitting room, watching out the window for the Dursleys' carriage. The Weasleys had arrived just a few minutes earlier. Master and Madam Weasley were talking with Magistrate Granger while the other Weasley children talked and laughed amongst themselves. The whole house was alive, excited, and <em>incredibly<em> loud.

Ron and Hermione, however, had excluded themselves in a way. They were turned around backwards on the settee, their eyes scanning the roads for any sign of Harry.

"Do you suppose they're just running late?"

"I'm sure." Ron tried to sound certain, but he had a gut-feeling that something was wrong. When he glanced at Hermione, her face said the same thing.

A few minutes later, their fears were confirmed. The Dursley's open carriage pulled in front of the Granger House without Harry. The Dursleys entered the house and warmly greeted the Grangers while not so subtly slighting the Weasleys. Hermione looked to her father, confusion written all over her face.

"Master Dursley", the magistrate started after introductions had been made, "where is Harry?"

Ron thought he saw something flash in Master Dursley's eyes before he smoothly answered, "I'm afraid the boy has taken ill. Wasn't feeling quite up to a party."

The Dursleys- excluding Dudley of course, who was blatantly staring at Hermione- had painted sad and concerned looks on their faces that Ron knew didn't fool anyone. His blood boiled. They hadn't let Harry come. They couldn't even let him have _one night_ of fun!

"Oh", Magistrate Granger said, suspicion rampant in his eyes, "well that is certainly unfortunate…."

Master Dursley cleared his throat nervously before grunting out an intelligible response and a shrug.

The awkward moment was interrupted by a servant entering the room to announce that dinner was ready. All of the guests began to file towards the dining room when Ron felt a tug on his sleeve. He looked down at Hermione who motioned for him to be quiet. Ron lifted an eyebrow, but nodded. She glanced at the departing crowd anxiously before pulling him the opposite direction.

"What are you-"

"_Shhh_!" Hermione hissed at him.

Ron pulled a face at her which she returned irritably before pulling towards the front door. Before they reached the door, Hermione turned a gave Ron a look that clearly said, "_Now_ do you get it?"

Ron smiled. Hermione smirked at him before opening the door quietly. They exited the house, climbed up on Ron's already saddled horse, Sweeper, and rode out of town towards the Dursleys' cottage where Ron knew they'd find Harry.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Please RR. (: Grazie.**_

_**Sorry about the super long wait guys… Major writer's block. Hope you liked this chapter. I felt back about doing this to Harry, but I promise that things get better for him in the next chapter. See ya'll… **__**Oh, and what did ya'll think about the Vernon/Harry scene? Too much? Not enough? Feedback is appreciated…**_


	6. Uncomfortable Awkwardness

_**I do not own Harry Potter or anyone from the Harry Potter books/films. If I did, I would not be writing **__**FAN**__**fictions about Harry Potter or anyone from the Harry Potter books/films. That is all.**_

_**By the way, before I get to the chapter, I just want to thank you guys for your awesome reviews and comments. I can't describe how amazing it is to know that there are actually people out there reading my story! You guys totally make me fly.**_

**Chapter 6**

_**Uncomfortable Awkwardness…**_

Hermione clung tight to Ron's waist. She fairly enjoyed riding by herself, but she was never very fond of someone else being in control of the horse. Hermione liked things that were solid and sure; putting her fate in the hands of someone else was _never_ solid _or_ sure. She was so uneasy and focused on herself that she didn't notice Ron trying to shift out of her iron hold on him.

"Hermione", Ron laughed, "I can't breathe with your arms snaked about me like that!"

"Sorry." Hermione loosened her grip but she still kept her eyes shut tightly.

For a few minutes they rode in peaceful silence. But at the first log that Ron sent Sweeper over, Hermione gasped and clasped her hands in front of Ron's abdomen, hiding her face in his back. His faded shirt- he'd shed his jacket before leaving town- smelt of wheat and mint leaves.

Ron chuckled under his breath. He didn't slow down, but he did wrap his large hand around hers. They were rough and calloused like Harry's.

"We're almost there", Ron said softly.

For some reason, Ron's voice made Hermione shiver. This unnerved her. Only Cedric made her feel so… _enticed_.

"Keep both your hands on the reigns", Hermione ordered frantically. _Anything_ to make the feeling she was having around Ronald Weasley go away.

Ron didn't say anything, but he did let go of her hands. Hermione made herself back away from Ron a little, even though she was still frightened. They rode for a while in _incredibly_ awkward silence. Hermione, never one to allow for uncomfortable pauses, tried to break the quiet.

"So… Your mother owns the bakery?"

"What?"

Hermione sighed and raised her voice a bit more. "I asked if your mother owns the bakery."

"Oh! No, she doesn't. Just works there. Has for years."

"Oh… I thought that-"

"Pretty much everybody calls the bakery Mother's, even though it isn't." Hermione swallowed her irritation at being interrupted, even though Ron was answering what she'd been preparing to ask him. "She does all the baking, you know."

"Oh, I didn't know that."

"Yeah…"

"Right…" Silence. "Do you ever help her out in the shop? I think I saw you there the other day."

"Yeah, a bit", Ron shifted in the saddle, forcing Hermione to reposition herself as well. "In fact, I worked there a while today before the party."

"That explains the minty smell of your shirt."

"W-what?"

Hermione winced. She couldn't believe she'd just told Ron that she'd been smelling of him!

_Wonderful way to make this ride less awkward, Hermione! __**Brilliant**__…_

"Your, uh… Your shirt smells a bit minty."

Ron cleared his throat. Hermione could see his ears turning pink. "Oh… yeah, I guess that explains… _that_…"

"That it does…"

At that moment, Hermione decided to let the silence reign. There was absolutely no _possible_ way that she could salvage this interlude. She resigned herself to face forward, keep quiet, and let the most awkwardly uncomfortable horseback ride _ever_ ride itself out.

* * *

><p>Ron tried to focus on the road. He tried to focus on Sweeper. He tried to focus on getting to Harry as quickly as possible. But all Ronald Weasley could focus on was <em>her<em>.

_What's __**wrong**__ with you? Get a hold of yourself, Weasley!_

But no matter how many times he kept repeating that to himself, he couldn't stop thinking about her. The way she smelled like flowers and chocolate and tea- Ron didn't feel too guilty about smelling her; after all, _she'd_ smelled _him_ first- and how her hair sporadically fell out of its style… The way she gasped lightly and clung to him, pressing her face and her chest against his back…

Ron shook his head in a doglike manner. He'd never felt this way about _any_ girl. He and Lavender Brown had had several dalliances the winter before, and that was certainly passionate, but _this_ was different. Hermione Granger was getting under his skin and he didn't like it, especially since Ron speculated that Harry fancied her.

_Just stop thinking about it! You're just attracted to her, that's __**all**__._

Satisfied with the conclusion he had come to, Ron smiled as he and Hermione finally arrived at the Dursleys'. He tied Sweeper's reigns to a post outside the barn before easily turning to help Hermione from the saddle. Ron started. She wasn't there!

"Thank you for the thought", Ron peeked under Sweeper's neck to see Hermione smirking at him, "but I managed."

Ron smirked back as Hermione walked to his side of the horse.

_You're going to be just fine. How hard can an attraction be to overcome?_

"Shall we?" Ron gestured toward the house, once he'd ascertained that Harry wasn't in the barn or outside.

"We shall."

_No problem…_

"Oh, wait, Ron!"

Ron caught a strong whiff of Hermione's hair as she leaned in front of him. Her hip brushed against his leg as she grabbed his coat from where he'd draped it over Sweeper's saddle.

"Your coat", Hermione handed him his jacket, obviously avoiding his eyes.

"Thanks", Ron croaked. Hermione raised an eyebrow at his newly-found squeak. Ron cleared his throat before repeating his gratitude in his normal baritone.

But as they walked towards the cottage, Ron was still sweating and fidgeting, trying desperately to pay attention to anything but Hermione.

_Curses… This is going to be harder than I thought._

_**Please R/R. (: Asante!**_

_**So… I know this is totally not what ya'll were expecting, so I'm completely expecting negative reviews. Let me explain a few things before I get slammed with hate reviews about the length of this chapter and the attraction stuff between Ron and Hermione when I clearly labeled this as a Harry/Hermione fic. 1. This is kind of a "filler chapter" so I'll be updating the next regular chapter pretty soon. 2. The main pairing still has not changed. But this Ron/Hermione stuff is necessary… Trust me. **__**Anyway, please let me know what you thought, whether you think I'll like what you have to say or not. Deuces! (:**_


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